


Objects of Desire

by PinkPenguinParade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, Love and Lust, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tags Are Hard, single entendres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade/pseuds/PinkPenguinParade
Summary: Neither of them said anything. There were no grand declarations, at least once they'd got done calling each other nice bastards. They had just gently drifted into the new normal, much the same as the old normal.It was... nice, Aziraphale thought. They had spent so much time worrying about the eyes of their respective sides, and it was delightful to be able to just be, without concern over being seen.And then the demon started anticipating him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one, too, took forever to come together. I think I'm finally ready to stop futzing with it and release it into the wild. Fic is finished, second part will be up after line editing and dithering (probably in the morning).
> 
> Thanks as always to LastSaskatchewanPirate and LigeiaStGermaine for the lovely beta and for putting up with me dropping random bits of story into IM windows all the damn time. You guys are the best and my sanity thanks you.
> 
> T rating is because caution, and maybe swears? G might be fine. What do y'all think? also I have no idea how to tag this thing, so tags may be added/updated as I think of them

"Here you go," Crowley said, thrusting a book in front of Aziraphale's face. 

He might object to that, under normal circumstances, but as it was exactly the book he'd been (fruitlessly) looking for, he settled instead for a delighted grin. "You found it! How did you know?"

"'S not a miracle, angel. You've been stalking about the place muttering for the last hour." Crowley handed over the book and slouched back over to the sofa, eyes never leaving whatever beeping, trilling game he was playing on his mobile.

Aziraphale took it back to his desk, mind already whirring along as he unearthed his notes and pen from the books he'd set there in his tizzy of searching. 

"How's your Egyptian?" he found himself asking an hour or so later. 

"Modern or ancient?" Crowley replied from the couch. 

"Ancient," Aziraphale said, peering at the symbols on his page.

"Hieroglyphic or hieratic?" he said, still not looking up from his phone.

"Hieroglyphic."

"Which dynasty?" _Beep bingely beep,_ as his thumbs moved.

"Would you please just come over here and help me take a look at this?"

Crowley stood up in stages, never managing to quite lose the slouch, never slowing down on his game. "What's the problem?"

"These hieroglyphs don't make any sense with the text," Aziraphale said.

It was hard to tell behind the sunglasses, but he didn't think the demon had done more than glance. "That's 'cause they're gibberish. Well, not gibberish, but... what's that, a text on alchemy? Yeah, I think they just added the hieroglyphs to look cool."

"These people were engaged in writing a serious treatise on the science of the time. I'm sure they had more on their minds than just 'looking cool'."

"Angel, I will bet you ten quid that the phrase 'wisdom of the ancients' appears somewhere within a dozen pages of where you are. That kind of irrelevant ancient text is exactly the kind of bollocks you get from people who think, 'oh, the ancients knew these vast dark secrets!' and cannot get over their own wankery--"

"Crowley!"

"--When you and I both know that the wisdom of the ancients largely involved not being completely stupid about everything and doing all their test runs on a lot of stuff that didn't survive, so people look at what's left and think the pyramids were built by space aliens because they don't see any of the early prototypes."

Aziraphale huffed. "My dear, has anyone ever told you that you're a terrible cynic?"

"Nah. I'm an excellent cynic. Also I never told anybody that drinking mercury is a cure for anything. Point one me, ancient wisdom naught." He fell silent, splayed on the couch, still playing on his phone.

Aziraphale went back to reading. 

A few minutes later the relative silence was broken by the angel saying, "Crowley, my dear?"

"Yeah?"

"It seems I owe you ten quid. Will you take dinner in lieu?"

"You think, what, the Indian place down the street?"

"Ooh, yes! Just the thing!"

"Yeah, okay. You're paying."

***

That was the beginning, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Not the Beginning beginning, obviously; Crowley was still a wily serpent and always would be, but for himself he was done with apple tree duty, now and forever.

After the Apocalypse _didn't_ they had, true to Heaven's word, been left more or less alone. Everything had changed... but nothing had really changed.

Neither of them said anything. There were no grand declarations, at least once they'd got done calling each other nice bastards. They had just gently drifted into the new normal, much the same as the old normal.

Crowley came round the book shop more often, spending evenings and afternoons there until the angel had to ask him nicely to please go to another part of the city and _away from his books_ if he had to cause some chaos. For his part, Aziraphale was now more likely than he had been to suggest a drive, or a nice dinner or lunch together. One or two picnics had even appeared, to the angel's delight.

It was... nice, Aziraphale thought. They had spent so much time worrying about the eyes of their respective sides, and it was delightful to be able to just be, without concern over being seen.

And then the demon started anticipating him.

After the book, it was dinner. And sure, he'd been stalking around the bookshop muttering, but he hadn't said a word about wanting that particular restaurant. There were other little things, too. Crowley showed up with a white wine instead of a red just at the point when he'd been thinking that it would be a nice change of pace. The demon would find _exactly_ the right pastry, or catch him in the store just as he was wanting to close down for a nosh, or bring a gift of some new cocoa right when his previous brand started to fail in quality.

All of it without ever asking a question, or saying a word.

*** 

He started testing it. In small ways, at first. He asked about dinner, thinking firmly of how much he wanted to go to the Savoy.

Crowley suggested the Savoy.

The next time he thought very hard about sushi, and Crowley did not suggest his regular sushi shop. But the place Crowley _did_ suggest had excellent sushi options, as well as an enticing assortment of noodle bowls. Crowley himself had one of those, and let Aziraphale try it. It was, naturally, delicious.

It was always possible, he supposed, that after this many years Crowley just knew him very very well indeed.

He opened up early one morning, hoping to check 'opened the store' off his day so he could close up early with a job well done, and immediately encountered a problem when a customer not only found her way in that early, but also actually had an interesting issue. She had undertaken a search for a very particular book, one that he didn't have... but he thought he might be able to help track it down. She was unusually respectful of _his_ books, even. And he quite enjoyed conversing with her, even as he very much wished that he'd gone over to the bakery early instead of opening the shop.

Crowley breezed in and dropped a white bakery bag on the desk on his way to flop on the couch, eyes glued to his mobile.

The customer looked at Aziraphale quizzically. "Does he do that a lot?"

"Quite," Aziraphale said, realizing that Crowley did in fact do that a lot these days. A lot since the world didn't end, a lot more often yet as time went by. He opened the bag to take a peek. "Let me see what--oh! He's brought an extra today. My dear girl, would you care for a scone?"

After the woman departed, with his card in her pocket and her request and contact information by his till, he wandered over toward where Crowley sprawled on his sofa. "That was very kind of you," he said. 

"Shut it," Crowley said, without heat. "Want to close up and take a drive?"

And, indeed, he did want just that.

***

It was, he decided, time to approach this scientifically. 

He was working at his desk, making sure his accounts were balanced. He'd not sold much lately to tally up but there had been the group of schoolchildren who came in, and he'd so enjoyed helping them find books they would each enjoy; there had been that estate sale where he picked up a job lot he still hadn't gone through...

And he really very much wanted a cup of tea.

He sat for a moment, thoughts of accounting suspended, while he concentrated very hard on how much he wanted a cup of tea. 

"Get it yourself, angel," Crowley said from the couch.

"I beg your pardon?" That was definitely not the reaction he had anticipated.

"I said, get it yourself."

"I-- I was just wanting some tea--"

"Nah, you were wanting to see if I would make tea for you and confirm or deny whatever hypothesis is in your fluffy dandelion head."

"I--Wait, what? You knew?"

"Can't read your mind, angel. Wouldn't if I could." Crowley finally put down his mobile. "Now can you stop playing around with this? It's getting old."

"Then how did you know...?"

"Temptation. Demon." He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Can't tempt a body if you don't have an idea what they want. How much time have I spent around you?"

"I... I mean, well... All of it, really," Aziraphale said, somewhat dazed. He was trying not to think about all the things he'd wanted during that time. 

"Right. There you go." Crowley dipped his head in a little half-bow, not _quite_ mockingly. "I am the world's foremost authority on the desires of the Principality Aziraphale. It's honestly amazing how many of them revolve around tea or wine, frankly."

"I like tea," he said faintly, still a little stunned. "And wine."

"So do I. I like that you like them, and I like that you want them and it's something I can do for you. I like that you get happy when you get them. But just then... you didn't want the tea nearly as much as you wanted to know if I would get you the tea, did you?"

This was not how he'd expected any of this to go. "I suppose not."

"There you are, then. Wish granted, now you know." Crowley grinned at him. "Now make your own tea. Make me one, while you're up."

"You did what I wanted you to do," Aziraphale said, still slotting it together.

"Yep."

"... by telling me to get stuffed."

The grin widened. "Service with a smile, I am."

***

"Crowley," Aziraphale said. 

"Uh-oh." Crowley had popped round the shop to pick him up for dinner and been quite patient, all things considered, while he cleared out the last of the customers and took a phone call. "What is it, angel?"

Well, that response seemed a little out of proportion, Aziraphale thought, looking over at the lanky form sprawled on his couch. "What makes you think there's an 'it'?"

"Because you've got your I've-been-thinking voice on. Out with it."

Oh, very well. "Why did you come over to talk to me?"

"Because we have dinner plans. Lovely plans, remember? You specifically requested crepes and oh hell, you've been thinking about crepes and the whole wanting thing, haven't you?" Crowley dropped his head back onto the cushions. "Spill."

"I did!" He stepped back and took a seat next to the demon, posture straight. "Why did you come talk to me? That first day. In the Garden. Why did you, a demon, come over to me, the angel who had been tasked with the Gate?"

Crowley didn't raise his head. "I was lonely? Curious? It was a long, long time ago." He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses--he often did, now, when they were alone, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart every time--and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "What brought this on?"

"You can... you can read _desires,_ you said--"

"Not quite what I said, but--"

"--And I want to know why you came to talk to me. There were three other gates and three other angels, Crowley. Why did you come talk to me?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you? Rrrgh." Crowley sat up, shifted to mostly face him. "Yes. All right? Yes, I could feel what you wanted, and what they wanted, and I went to you. Can we go to dinner? They'll still seat us if we're half an hour late, but I actually made actual reservations this time. With a telephone."

"The human way? You? With a phone?"

"An app, but I didn't want to have to hear you asking me what an app was. Angel. _Aziraphale."_ Crowley reached out and laid a hand over his; he only then realized he was fretting them together. "What has gotten you so worked up about this? Tell me what's going on in there," Crowley went on, lightly tapping the angel's forehead with his off hand.

He'd been worrying at this for days, in a low-key sort of way, whenever his mind wasn't otherwise occupied (and sometimes when it was--he'd read the same page of _Persuasion_ three times last night, each time having gotten to the page-turn and realizing he hadn't a clue what he'd just been reading). And he was still poking at it, really, trying to determine the shape of it.

"I'm... not sure," he said finally, consciously keeping his hands still. Aside from the frustrated desire to twist them together, it was quite nice to have Crowley's hand on his, actually. The demon's skin was warm and the contact was, as he suspected it was meant to be, grounding. He didn't want to do anything that might make him take it away. "I think that's why I wanted to ask. I've almost got hold of it, but I still can't quite figure it out to put words to."

Crowley was silent for a moment, and when he looked up those lovely golden eyes were staring into his. "All right," Crowley said finally. "Fine. The other angels wanted to smite a demon. _Really_ wanted to. To show they were keen."

"And what did I want?"

"You wanted someone to talk to. I took a chance." The quirk of a smile wrote itself across those lips. "Glad I did. Every day. Even when I'm mad at you. Which is going to be soon if we can't go to dinner."

"You showed up to talk to me because I wanted someone to talk to?"

"You were the best of all my choices," Crowley said.

"Thank you." Aziraphale carefully did not grab after him when he pulled his hand away. "Let's go to dinner."

***

Dinner was not going as well as he had hoped.

It was his own fault, of course. He wasn't sure why he couldn't get past this, but he'd wrong-footed at the start when Crowley asked what kind of wine he wanted and he'd reacted by saying, "I don't know, what kind of wine _do_ I want?"

"Oi, don't be like that," Crowley said testily.

Aziraphale took a moment and a breath and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry, dear boy. You're quite right, that wasn't fair of me." He took a look at the list and, after some discussion, they agreed on a full-bodied red.

He was very taken with several of the dinner options, really. And then he looked at Crowley over his menu and ordered the coq a vin instead of any of them.

Crowley sighed and ordered a delectable-sounding crepe stuffed with cheese and prosciutto and fig jam.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment.

Crowley did nothing particularly interesting. Well, up until he shook his head slightly and said, "So are we just going to sit here in silence? How was the day at the shop?" and got Aziraphale thinking about other things enough to start talking. The day at the shop had been mostly reasonable, aside from one customer who had navigated his way past all the roadblocks to the original Shakespeare folios and had had to be thoroughly dissuaded from trying to buy them ( _and_ he'd had to make the poor man a cup of tea when the combination of dust and the chance discovery had nearly sent the fellow choking and hyperventilating!). They'd had a nice conversation after that, though; and after some passionate campaigning the gentleman had arranged to come back next week with a camera on the condition that he not go _blabbing everywhere_ about where he'd found it--

"You know, you could just put all your favorite books that you don't want to sell into another room, right?" Crowley said.

"They are in another room."

"A different other room. With a door this time. Maybe a sign that says 'Staff only' or the like. Humans do it all the time."

"My dear," said Aziraphale, lighting up as the waiter brought plates over to them, "That would hardly be sporting, if everything was clearly labeled!"

"If you don't want to sell them, maybe put them where they're less likely to be found," Crowley said. He regarded his crepe with satisfaction and took a long sip of his wine. "Is all I'm saying."

"I do meet some lovely humans that way," he mused, looking at his coq a vin with somewhat less satisfaction. "They have such a talent for getting where they're not supposed to be."

"And what happens when you're slightly distracted and someone actually manages to buy one?" Crowley took the knife and sliced off a corner of his crepe, popping it into his mouth with a smile and a hum.

"I don't think I've ever been _that_ distracted!" He tucked his napkin neatly into his lap, picked up his own cutlery, and carefully carved off a piece of chicken. Swiped it through the juices on the plate before bringing it to his lips. 

It was a perfectly reasonable coq a vin. Delicious, even.

He shouldn't be blaming it for not being the crepe he'd actually wanted.

He took three more bites, chewing them carefully and attempting to savor them, all the while trying to ignore the noises Crowley was making over his crepe. 

"Something wrong, angel?" Crowley said, fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Aziraphale realized he'd been slightly staring.

"How's your coq a vin?" Crowley said.

Oh, now he just _knew_ the demon was rubbing it in. "It's delicious. Why did I order it?"

"Surprised me," Crowley said, and popped the next bite of crepe into his mouth. "You said you wanted crepes."

Aziraphale found himself staring at the motion of Crowley's jaw as he chewed. "I did want crepes. And then _you_ got crepes, and now all I can do is wonder why I didn't get crepes!" 

Crowley pushed his plate, with its two-thirds of a crepe, over towards Aziraphale. "Have a crepe, angel."

"I can't take your crepe just because I was too stupid to order my own," he said unhappily. And then suspicion dawned. "Did you order the crepe I wanted just because I didn't order it?"

"If you want the crepe, eat the crepe, angel."

"You should order what _you_ want!" He almost had it, he'd been worrying at it for days and he almost had it. "You shouldn't be getting something just because I want it--"

And there it was. Right in front of him, the thing he'd been trying to pin down all this time. Clear as day, enough so that he quite forgot where he was.

"That's it!" He said, dropping his fork in his excitement. It clattered loudly to his plate. "It's not you knowing, it's that I don't like the thought that I'm _controlling_ you with my desires!"

The restaurant fell silent around them.

Well, for a moment. 

Right up until Crowley started laughing so hard that he fell off his chair.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have to be quite so self-satisfied, you know," he said when he returned with a bottle of Ledaig. Ordinarily he'd have gone with tea, but right now more alcohol was definitely the order of the evening. 
> 
> "I think I should hear more about you controlling me with your desires," Crowley smirked and reached for the whiskey. 
> 
> Aziraphale pulled the bottle away. "Me first. You can have the first whiskey when it's your big public humiliation." He popped open the whiskey and took a healthy swig straight from the bottle, then passed it over to the demon.

A deeply embarrassed Aziraphale almost begged the waiter for the check and takeout boxes, and they took the rest of the food back to the bookshop in relative silence. Relative, because Crowley was still sniggering like the villain he was. Aziraphale kept shooting him dirty looks, but he was apparently impervious. Maybe millennia as a demon burned all the shame out of you, after all. 

For himself, his cheeks were burning and probably crimson. He'd miracled it away and it had flamed right back up as soon as he remembered the looks on the other diners' faces, and he'd finally given it up for a bad job.

He dropped the takeout bag on the cash wrap and took off his coat, hung it up on his way to the little kitchen. 

"You don't have to be quite so self-satisfied, you know," he said when he returned with cutlery and a bottle of Ledaig. Ordinarily he'd have gone with tea, but right now more alcohol was definitely the order of the evening. 

"I think I should hear more about you controlling me with your desires," Crowley smirked and reached for the whiskey. 

Aziraphale pulled the bottle away. "Me first. You can have the first whiskey when it's your big public humiliation." He popped open the whiskey and took a healthy swig straight from the bottle, then passed it over to the demon. 

Crowley took a more reasonable sip. "Nobody is going to remember tomorrow. Don't worry about it. You're making this a much bigger thing than it needs to be."

"It's not funny! You, you work so hard to give me what I want, and I appreciate it, I really do. But now I find out that you've always been able to tell what I want, that you did things--that you made _your choices_ \--based on that!"

"Still not seeing the problem, angel." Crowley reached over and plucked a fork out of his unresisting hand, then picked up the box with the coq a vin. "You want a thing, you get a thing. 'S not like I could even give you everything you wanted, because I am very very not that powerful." The demon stabbed into the box and gestured with a forkful of errant potato. "There's lots of things you've wanted that I couldn't have given you, and even more things you wanted that you didn't choose. So eat--" he popped the potato into his mouth--"your crepe." 

"You came to me in the Garden," Aziraphale said.

"And again. Not seeing the problem." Another bite went into the demon's mouth.

"I've watched you when you do temptations, Crowley." He took a deep breath and put the other cutlery down, laid his hands around his demon's hands on box and fork. "I've watched you shift, into someone who your mark will trust. I've watched you _change yourself_ into what people expect, time and again."

Crowley's hands stilled under his own, his expression unreadable. 

"May I take off your glasses, dear?"

Crowley swallowed and nodded.

He let go of Crowley's hands and reached up for the earpieces of the sunglasses. Crowley's eyes underneath them were fixed on his own.

"Thank you," he said. "I've watched you change yourself for people, to give them what they want. I don't want you to change yourself for me. And quite frankly..." He shook his head, just a bit. "I don't like thinking that I might have been changing you from the beginning. Do you understand?"

Crowley broke away from his gaze and laid the fork and box on the counter. "Aziraphale." Nimble fingers plucked the sunglasses from his hands as well, leaving him nothing to do with them but twist around one another until, again, Crowley stilled them with his own.

"You are overthinking this," he went on. "I went to you because you wanted someone to talk to, because _I_ wanted someone to talk to. If I'd wanted to come over all tough evil demon, I had three other options. I could have been the kind of demon they expected of me Downstairs." He winced. "I'd have got my ass smote--smited? Smitten? Definitely not smitten--but I had the choice."

"But what if you didn't? What if you just wanted someone to talk to because I did?"

"Auuugh. Angel. You...." He closed those lovely golden eyes for a moment, with a sigh. "You are infuriating. And on the wall... You were small, and worried. You were _fretting._ And you were luminous. You weren't blazing, like the others, you weren't facing the world with all your weapons out and all your shields up. But you glowed in the sunlight, all the same, through all your worry. And that's before I ever got close to you, mind."

"You could tell I was worried?"

"I mean, emotions like that were still pretty new and everyone was getting the hang of body language, but yeah. Not hard to spot. The Garden was new and it was _not Hell,_ which I gotta say made it the best place ever. Not that Hell is any great shakes now, but early days, yeah? It was way worse. I'd been kicked up as probably the least likely to get smote straight off and I was bloody glad to get out of there, and then I'd immediately cocked up the entire thing for the baby Human Race. I knew Downstairs would be ecstatic and I didn't want to go anywhere near there to report. 

"And I felt bad about Adam and Eve. Like, undemonically bad. Kept telling myself I should have known there weren't second chances, my bloody wings were still healing, of course there were no second chances. I felt bad. And you were there, and you were brilliant and beautiful and worried and you only wanted someone to talk to and for Adam and Eve to be safe in a world you knew was going to be hard for them. So I went to talk to you, right? And you didn't make me do anything. Okay?"

He wanted to believe it, he really did. He wanted to believe that it hadn't, that _he_ hadn't changed Crowley over the years. But there was still that treacherous little voice, needing to be quieted. 

"Are you sure? Really sure? I love the Crowley you are and what if you're only that Crowley because I made you be?"

Crowley's eyes widened, and a smile crept over his lips. "You just said you love me, angel."

"Oh, but that's not--"

"Nope. No backsies. You said it." The smile was taking over Crowley's whole face and oh, it was enchanting to see such joy there. It made him feel warm all over.

"Of course I love you, you ridiculous demon! If I didn't love you I wouldn't be worried about this!" 

He'd finally said the word, and if this wasn't the grand declaration he might have hoped, well, he still felt himself overflow with the relief of it. He hadn't realized how very towering those walls had gotten, over the years, until they started crumbling. It was quite overwhelming.

"Angel," Crowley said, and that lovely slender hand pressed into his cheek and he leaned into it. "That's why you shouldn't be worried at all. I swear to you, right now. I--Oi, angel," Crowley went on, a bit strongly. Aziraphale tried to pull his focus from the warmth of the demon's hand back to the demon's actual words. "Are you listening?"

He looked into liquid golden eyes--the sharpness of his face was quite alluring, really, wasn't it? "Oh, _yes."_

"Oi!" With the sunglasses off he could see the demon's massive eyeroll. "You. Did not. Make me. Do anything. Didn't control me, not controlling me now. The only thing you ever wanted--really, really wanted from me, was to be _better._ Get it? Might as well say I'm controlling you because I love you when you're a bit of a bastard."

"You said the love word," Aziraphale said happily. There was nothing in dinner that should have sent him warm and floating, and he'd only had the one slug of whiskey, he shouldn't feel so light--Oh. _Oh._

"Yes I did. Although if you won't... Seriously, are you okay?" The hand on his cheek moved back along his jaw and shook, just a little, to get his attention.

Oh, now Crowley was peevish. That wouldn't do at all. Aziraphale tried again to rein in his attention. "Only there's rather a lot of it around at the moment. I've been trying to keep it all contained but I'm afraid it rather... broke. Everywhere." He smiled up. "It's not even all mine!"

Not even a little bit all his, actually; the feel of Crowley was everywhere, sweet and cinnamon-spicy, and he breathed it in, letting it flow through him. Oh, he'd only allowed himself the tiniest tastes of this, before now. It was delectable. Intoxicating.

"What broke, Aziraphale?" Crowley sounded worried, and the lovely warm hand was suddenly gone from his cheek as the demon reached over to sniff the whiskey bottle.

"I've been stuffing it all away, for so long. Even when we didn't have to anymore! And I don't think I ever realized how much of it there was." Crowley's concern wound through the air, sharp and overriding and tasting vaguely of fennel, and he realized he hadn't answered the question. Oh, no wonder his poor demon was worried! "Love, dear," he said, and laughed with it. "I've been turning it down and stuffing it away and I think, I think I broke my settings, love, it's _everywhere_!"

"You can... sense... love?" 

"I'm an angel!" 

"I've met angels. I don't think it's a universal trait," Crowley said. "Love can't possibly do this to all of you."

"Not... not all the time. 'M just a little starved, and it's big, it got so _big_ while I wasn't paying attention."

"That's... no, you know what? I'm not touching that line. Hang on a sec, though. I want to try something." Crowley closed his eyes for a second, and when they opened-- 

Aziraphale's knees went out as the ambient love crested and rolled through him.

Crowley caught him with lovely strong arms and a muttered, "Oh, that's _fun."_

"Oh, Crowley." He was snuggled in, being held against his demon's chest, and he couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. He could drown in this, could feel it singing in his veins. "D'you know what I want?"

"Yeah," Crowley said. "Nothing you're going to get until you sober up." 

Suddenly there was an arm at his knees and he was being lifted, still surrounded in that heady cinnamon cloud, and deposited on the back room couch. "You went away," he complained, into the sudden absence of warm body on his.

"Couch is a little cozy for two, the way you're settled." Crowley's voice was smiling. Oh good, he hadn't ruined it.

"You should come here. Could make a nice spot for you." He wiggled down into the cushions with a sigh. "Oh! You usually sit on the couch!"

"It's a little full of love-drunk angel right now."

"But it's lovely over here. It smells like you. I can--" he took a deep breath, rolling that spice around his metaphorical tongue. "I can smell your love here, too!"

 _"Angel."_ Crowley's strangled voice made him open his eyes and look over at the demon's pained face. 

"Hmm? Are you all right?"

"You are killing me here." Crowley's head dropped into his hands. "In the morning, or whenever you come down from this, I am going to hand you the gold medal in the single-entendre olympics."

He'd let his eyes drift closed again, happily lost in the ambient emotion. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't, either, which is making it very ha--which is not making this easy," Crowley said. "Now you've got me doing it. Why on earth has this hit you like, like _this?"_

"Frightfully dangerous, of course. Perilous." He really was working to stay on track, but... "I've been taking anything to do with you and love and stuffing it into a box and chaining it shut for ever so long. Terribly chancy, but if either of our offices got a sniff, it would be, it would be... it would be bad." He laughed, lightly, trying to keep focused but the entire shop was steeped in the two of them. "Think I broke it."

"This... this is why you always get tipsy at weddings, isn't it?"

"You love weddings," he said, sighing softly. "Weddings are wonderful."

"I love weddings because they're perfect encapsulations of chaos half the time--Old grudges get a dust-off and a shine, the happy couple go insane at anything messing with their day, the wedding party is usually having it off with each other in a coat closet and there's nothing for me to actually _do."_ Crowley laughed. "You, now... I find out you've just been getting high all this time."

"Human love is very comforting. They build it up across their lives and gift it to their children and it changes, it's always changing. But _you--"_ Aziraphale opened his eyes to smile over at his demon. "You are _exquisite,_ my dear."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Now I know you're drunk," he said.

"Oh, but you are! You're so much stronger than they are, and you're, you're _everywhere._ It's..."

"Intoxicating?" Crowley said after a moment.

"Yes," Aziraphale answered, getting a little irritated. "It is. Deliciously so, and apparently I love you despite you _not giving me five minutes_ to adjust to it." It was still a happy sigh that he finished up with, though, as he tipped his head back onto the couch and let his eyelids sag. 

He heard Crowley stand up, and then there was a weight on the sofa next to him. He rolled into it, content to let gravity have its way, and found himself up against a skinny demon sitting at the cushion's edge.

A hand came over to trace down his cheek. His breath caught as it was followed by another wave of love washing over and through him. 

"...You're doing that on purpose," he gasped, after his lungs were working properly again.

"Yes I am," said Crowley, and he could hear the smile. 

"...Bastard." He curled up, pulling around that warmth, that slender body--letting it ground him.

"That too. Just enough to be worth knowing," said Crowley.

 _"So_ much more than that," Aziraphale said, and opened his eyes. He felt like he was getting a handle on it. Or he had been, before Crowley had messed with him again. "Think how you'd feel if you walked into somewhere and found it was suddenly swimming in layers of lust."

"So... how I feel right now, then?" Crowley said, with a tight note underneath that Aziraphale hadn't been listening for before. 

Aziraphale froze. 

He'd known, generally speaking, that Crowley could feel the vices in the same way he could feel some of the virtues. (Although he hadn't really recognized the whole reading-desires thing until very recently.) 

He'd known, in a back-of-the-mind, don't-think-about-it kind of way, that he'd been tamping down all the signs of love that he was feeling or even broadcasting, out of self-defense for his own sanity and protection for them both from their respective factions.

He'd known that there were aspects to Crowley he found highly distracting, despite the box he was busily repressing into.

Somehow, he'd never quite put all that together with the idea that Crowley might have his own box that he was busily stuffing things into in order to keep them safe from Falling or oblivion.

The idea was... compelling. And terrifying. And, he realized with some worry, a bit distinctly sexy. He also realized that this train of thought was doing all the work that would normally need a miraculous alcohol banishment or at least a cold shower.

"...Ah," he said, considering his position wrapped around a demon. Wrapped around _his_ demon.

"Thing is," Crowley said, mostly conversational but still with something taut and strained running underneath it, "I might have lied, before. Seems like I should come clean."

 _Oh crumbs,_ Aziraphale thought. He wasn't at all sure how to get out of this situation without getting, as it were, even _more_ wrapped around his demon. "What's that, then?" 

"I told you the only thing you ever wanted me to be was better."

Hands would have to be involved. Hands that had almost nothing to grab to help him up except handfuls of demon. "...Yes?" Suddenly, moving seemed treacherous indeed. So did staying still. 

"Well, it's not strictly true. I mean, I am a demon. Can't go around giving everyone the whole truth all the time, I'd get in a fantastic amount of trouble."

"True." Maybe he didn't have to sit up right away. Maybe he could just straighten out a bit, roll back away from the edge. He stretched cautiously, from where he had been curled around Crowley's back, and rolled just slightly away. It helped with the overwhelming proximity, but also gave him an excellent look at Crowley's face.

The demon was watching him, staring into him with molten eyes that almost glowed. Even--oh, wow, even the tips of his hair were glowing, just slightly, a demonic foxfire he'd never seen before. 

He had to shake himself out of staring. "So. Um. What was it you lied about, then? That I wanted from you?"

"Not all the time, mind. But... sometimes. Just sometimes. You wanted me to be better... but you also wanted me to be--" Crowley leaned toward him, down to where their faces were almost touching-- _"wicked."_

Well, golly. Like now, for instance, all of a sudden. "I did?" All of a sudden and _very strongly,_ actually.

"Oh yeah." Those lips curled up in a smile, trending toward grin. "You wanted me to be wicked, when you couldn't. When you didn't dare. When Upstairs had you tied in knots over some awful thing they kept insisting was good. You wanted me to be bad, to fight against it for you." The grin was quite fiendish now. "You _liked_ it."

He really wanted to argue that he'd done no such thing, but it would have been pointless. Crowley's ability to be wicked on his behalf--to rage and scream and thwart Heaven--had kept him going more than once, really.

Besides, he thought, shifting a bit so there was a little more contact with Crowley's thigh along his side, he did like it. 

He very much did. 

And now, for the first time in longer than he cared to think about, they seemed to be on the same page. He could feel the love coming off Crowley, but there was a balance with his own, and he smiled. 

"Know what I want?"

"Yes," Crowley said matter-of-factly, and made no moves.

Aziraphale thought back over their conversation, sure he'd missed something--ah. Quite right. "Do you know what I choose?" It made sense, after all, that the Serpent of Eden would care about choice.

"Tell me."

"I choose... what I want, my dear." He reached up and laid a hand on the side of his dear demon's face, tugging down towards him. "For once, I choose what I want."

Crowley turned the tug into a smooth lean and brushed their lips together. "Like that?" he said, when they parted. 

"Oh, my _darling._ I think we both know." He let some of Crowley's fiendishness creep into his own smile. "I want... more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not direct inspiration, but the love-drunk angel was definitely influenced by "Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark" by Mekachu04 ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023273 ). It's a lovely story and deserves way more love, go check it out! (Is also rated M, so fair warning.)
> 
> Thanks, y'all--Comments are loved and cherished (even if not always responded to) and knock-on art is always welcome!


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